


Live For

by purplebass



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebass/pseuds/purplebass
Summary: Thomas sighed once he was before the beautiful Victorian house at 102 Cornwall Garden, then reminded himself why he was there. He wasn’t paying any of its inhabitants a social a visit, but rather, he was there for business. He wouldn’t call the Clave’s orders business, but still, he was there for a reason and that reason wasn’t a pleasant one.Prompt: “I’m not going to yell at you”
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 81
Collections: Thomastair





	Live For

Thomas sighed once he was before the beautiful Victorian house at 102 Cornwall Garden, then reminded himself why he was there. He wasn’t paying any of its inhabitants a social a visit, but rather, he was there for business. He wouldn’t call the Clave’s orders business, but still, he was there for a reason and that reason wasn’t a pleasant one.

His parents returned to London the week before and his father Gideon asked Thomas whether he wanted to join in some of the activities of the Clave. Thomas had agreed on the spot because he wanted to keep himself busy. He still wanted to find whoever had killed his sister Barbara and make them pay. Thomas accepted without knowing what he would have to do. He was still eighteen, which meant that he would not be given any task that could put him into dangerous situations.

As he crossed the threshold of the Carstairs residence, however, he believed that the job that the older shadowhunters had asked of him was indeed of the dangerous category.

He did not want to be there. He did not want to meet anyone, especially _him_. Thomas wished that he would not meet those black eyes as he went upstairs after Risa, the Carstairs’ cook, allowed him to proceed. “You can search as much as you want, Mister Lightwood. There is no one home but me. Mrs. Carstairs told me that she wouldn’t interfere with the Clave’s investigation on her husband.”

Thomas had already searched two rooms, even if _search_ was the wrong term to describe what he had been doing. He opened a few drawers, controlled what was on the desk of one of the rooms. Checked inside the books that were scattered on one armchair – Cordelia’s room most likely, since there were dresses on the back of another chair. Nothing interesting to see there. He was swift, tried to put everything back where he found it, and left.

How much he hated that. He didn’t like to pry in the lives of Cordelia and her mother, but he couldn’t defy the Clave’s orders. His hand hesitated on the handle of the third room. There were only four rooms on this floor, and he knew that either this one or the next would be _his_ room. He closed his eyes as he opened the door, despite he knew he wouldn’t find him there.

“What a mess,” he commented, noticing even more scattered books and newspapers on the desk next to the window and clothes on the small sofa nearby. He decided to start from the desk since it was messier and there could be something interesting hidden. He didn’t think he would find anything there, but he still had to look. Unlike the previous rooms, he was compelled to explore that one. He didn’t know why, but he was curious to know more about _him_.

Alastair had been quite abrasive in the past and had spread false rumors, but Thomas believed that everyone deserved to be given the benefit of the doubt and everyone needed to be given a second chance. As much as he had felt a hole in his heart once he discovered he had helped spreading those false gossips about his family, Thomas knew that there was much more to Alastair than he let on.

Thomas found a little black book in one of Alastair’s drawers. There were just two letters written on it, A.C., his name and surname, and there was a pencil tied to it with a small cord. He thought that Alastair probably carried it around with him to scribble random things on it – he was, after all, an observer. And he was smart.

Thomas knew that he shouldn’t interfere in Alastair’s business, yet he found himself untying the cord and opening the small pad.

> _December 8th, 1903._

> _He knows. He knows and I can’t do anything but accept it. He would have known sooner or later; better now that later. I probably deserve it, even if it hurts my soul. No, what soul. I don’t have a soul. You’re out of line. Stop. You have already cried once. Move on. Hate is better than indifference. And you can still see him from afar._

“I didn’t think you were the nosy type, Lightwood.”

Thomas jumped. He tightened his grip on the small diary and tried to hide it, but Alastair had already stridden towards him. “I am not nosy. Meddling in other people’s business is not my style.” Alastair’s eyes fixated on the black object in his hands, and he wanted to say something else, but it was useless. “I didn’t read anything,” Thomas tried to add, but Alastair interrupted him by raising his index finger to silence him.

“I’m not going to yell at you,” Alastair told him, still observing the black diary and noticing that Thomas’ hands were a bit shaky. “I know you are doing your job.”

“I’m sorry I have to do this, but you know the law.”

Something crossed Alastair’s face, and Thomas tried to figure out what it was, but it was impossible because it lasted a few seconds. “And I won’t be stopping you from following orders. Search as much as you want. I don’t care.”

Alastair walked away from Thomas as if he hadn’t been there, as if he was just a figment of his imagination, and he took off his jacket.

“You always wear black,” Thomas said without realizing it. He couldn’t stop himself from saying it. He knew that he told him just because he didn’t want to be ignored. He was already hurt, but that hurt him more.

Thomas saw Alastair’s back tense. “I like black,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at Thomas.

They stared at each other without breaking eye contact until Thomas spoke again. “I didn’t like your oxygenated hair,” he told him bravely. He never told him something like that and he didn’t know how Alastair would react. He felt the need to tell him, an urgency he couldn’t control. He felt comfortable to ask him that.

Alastair turned towards Thomas and rubbed his hands together. “Me either, to be honest.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Alastair sighed and bit his lip. “We all do a lot of things to please other people, Lightwood. Not everything we do, we do it for ourselves. But you know what is great? That at some point, we realize that we should not let other people dictate how to live our lives. Shouldn’t people accept us for who we are?”

Thomas thought Alastair’s words to be very vague, general. Applying to everyone but to no one at the same time. He was trying to tell him something without being direct. “If we have to change to please other people, it just means they do not deserve us.”

Alastair’s mouth remained half-open as he mulled over Thomas’ words. Thomas saw the change in his features again, because in a span of seconds, Alastair’s face went from stunned to distressed, as if he did not expect Thomas’ answer or as if he knew that he would say those words and he didn’t want to hear them.

And then, Alastair closed himself to the world again. “If you’re done here, I think you should go.”

Thomas nodded and walked towards Alastair. He wanted to talk more, but he knew that Alastair had already shared too much. He was grateful they had talked.

He didn’t dare to look at him in the eyes, but his body was still angled in his direction and he was still looking at him sideways. “I meant well, Alastair,” Thomas finally declared, extending his hand to pass the black diary he was still holding to him.

Alastair hesitated at first, not able to take his eyes off the tiny journal, but then he grabbed it from Thomas’ hold and their hands touched briefly. Thomas couldn’t help himself and held on Alastair’s wrist, as you do when you want to drag somebody away. His grip was gentle. Alastair’s fingers trembled nervously under Thomas’ touch. He wanted to squeeze Thomas’s hand but he didn’t have the strength to make that move, and neither did Thomas.

“Do not let the past blacken your soul, Carstairs,” Thomas murmured. He let go of Alastair’s hand and walked away before he could reply.

That night, Alastair cried again, but not for the same reason he had cried after Cordelia’s engagement party. He cried because he realized Thomas was right. He thought he didn’t have a soul, and if he had a soul, it was a dark one.

How much he was wrong. He did have a soul. And that night, it only wept one name.

_Thomas._

How much he loved him… but he would never tell him.

How it hurt. How it drained all the life out of him, but at the same time, it made him feel alive.

And Thomas was a good reason to stay alive.


End file.
